


Fool's Errand

by lirulin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, F/M, Secret Admirer, Self-Esteem Issues, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 07:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirulin/pseuds/lirulin
Summary: Solas writes secret encouraging notes to an insecure F!Trevelyan. Falls in love while being encouraging.





	Fool's Errand

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill from the Kink Meme that I needed to archive (https://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14317.html?thread=54203629#t54203629). This one is a bit different style from my other writing, but I like it. It's unedited insofar as I can keep it unedited. Original prompt at the bottom.

It was a fool's errand, that much he realized even as he reached for the parchment. But, loathe as he was to admit it, even privately, he'd always been a bit of a fool.

He hadn't noticed her infatuation at first; obvious as Trevelyan's emotions were, they adhered to an internal logic that he had only just begun to understand. At the time, when he'd complimented her focus and grace, he'd taken her abrupt bluster and the sorrow that glanced across her face as offense. He'd been taken aback at the disappointment in her tone, at the way she'd almost recoiled from him, and had simply assumed that some facet of his compliment had crossed a line; he must have committed some social faux-pas he hadn't been aware of. It was a reasonable assumption...but the trend had continued.

In Haven she'd been so happy to come up to him, she sought him out often, and asked him question after question, honest admiration and delight playing on her face when she did. She was a young mage, clearly naive about the world, but she was eager and attentive; she hadn't a subversive or malicious bone in all her body. Her magic was elegant, if enthusiastic and a bit haphazard. She adopted tricks that she observed in him; her ability to copy his technique was astonishing and, frankly, worthy of praise. Unfortunately, when he gave it, however politely he phrased it, she would flush red and all joy would drain from her. She'd turn her face away, look down, and either fall silent or quietly and sadly thank him, as though he'd rebuked her form or pointed out an error in the way she cast.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize why she reacted as she did. He would have taken longer, frankly, had she not recruited the Tevinter mage. Dorian's boldfaced, constant overtures were far more insincere and extreme than his own compliments, but he earned the same dissapointed sadness when he casually heaped them on Trevelyan. She would draw away from him, curl into herself and clutch her staff more tightly; if Dorian persisted, however half-heartedly, she would excuse herself and all but flee from their conversations. Her offense was the reaction of a kicked dog, reflex as she waited for some inevitable cruelty, and the realization made him angrier than he would have thought it could.

He had been apart from the world for a very long time and, even before he'd slept, he hadn't known much about shemlen social convention. Everything he learned now was unfamiliar and jarring, but he couldn't imagine why anyone would abuse Trevelyan. How anything could be willfully cruel to her was a mystery, the very idea seemed absurd. She was delicate and gentle in equal measure, a studious girl with a bright, round face and a smile that dimpled beneath large, clear eyes. She watched Cassandra and Cullen in awe, praised the warriors even though she had to crane her neck just to look up at either of them. She was polite to a fault, opening doors for Josephine and appending every name with some respectful notation. She was capable of weaving spells so large they filled all the air but she forever attempted to make herself smaller than she was, to disappear in mid-air, and he couldn't fathom why.

She'd nearly fainted when they reached Skyhold, when the crowds had gathered and turned all their attention on her, when they named her Inquisitor. He'd watched the panic that crawled over her face, the way the color drained from her, and she'd tried to curl up but couldn't. He'd felt a pang of sympathy for her. He'd hoped that speaking with her in the Fade would alleviate her worries, that the peace of dreams might put whatever worried her to ease, but it did nothing of the sort. While they talked she shouldered his sidelong praise with reasonable grace but, when he'd paused to tell her how the world had changed when she closed the first rift, how she changed everything, her calm broke apart. For a moment, he was sure she was going to reach out to him--her eyes had darted to his mouth and her hand moved, slightly, but then she'd drawn it back and looked down at the snow.

The error he'd made then, while she stared down at the snow, silent and worried, still haunted him. He'd tried to comfort her, to assure her that there was no reason to expect cruelty or hurt, and he'd rested a hand on her shoulder as he did. In dreams, her reaction wasn't as pronounced as it would have been in the waking world; he didn't notice how she stilled, how she'd tensed, and when he'd revealed their location, the hurt that stole over her face was so severe that it hit him like a blow. She'd woken with a start, torn herself from the Fade in an instant, and he'd been left to wait for her to come and finish their conversation. Long hours crept past and a sense of dread settled in him; at sunset, he'd been on the verge of seeking her out, himself, but she finally made an appearance in the rotunda.

Her smile was wan when she turned it on him, and though the swelling had subsided, the redness of her cheeks was deeper than a blush, it was tangled up around her eyes. She'd been crying...sobbing, and he had no doubt that he was the cause. He didn't comment on her tear-stained face, she'd clearly tried to wait until the evidence had passed, but he couldn't prevent himself from apologizing. It was a blanket statement, something he disliked immensely, but he couldn't let his trespass go without comment. When she swallowed thickly, he silenced himself, and she'd only nodded her head. After long minutes, she'd asked him, in a voice so small and fragile that it nearly broke in the silence, not to be cruel.

There were no words that summed up his confusion, then, and it only mounted as she quietly listed all of the aspects of herself that should have repulsed him. She was fat, she was weak, she was short, she was clumsy, she had a list of insults and slights longer than her staff, and each bewildered him more than the last. Fortunately, his participation was no longer needed and she'd repeated her request, that he not be cruel, that he just ignore her, and then simply ducked her head and left. He'd stared, in the shocked silence in her wake, and it had taken a long time for him to wrap his mind around the situation. Once he finally had a handle on it, he'd decided to do something truly foolish.

So, here he was, seated at his desk with pen and parchment in hand, writing out a letter to the Inquisitor. He'd planned on writing something that detailed all her finer points, something that assured her that there was nothing about her that would repulse anyone, but as many words as he had, putting them to page was difficult. He couldn't seem to forget the look of betrayal on her face, the way she'd taken his comforting as something harsh and twisted, and he wanted nothing less than to hurt her further. She was so easily overwhelmed by spoken words, written word seemed like the only alternative...but what if she saw something vicious between the lines? Would she imagine some cruelty simply because he'd written it? He couldn't possibly sign it, not after she'd all but begged for reprieve, but if he wrote anything of length she would certainly know it came from him.

Solas was at a loss as he stared at the blank sheet before him. 

"Kindness can't be unkind."

The sudden voice startled Solas out of his thoughts. He wasn't often surprised, least of all by Cole, but his distraction had been all-consuming. Cole peered at him from beneath the brim of his hat, pale eyes curious and cutting, and his lips twisted into a small frustrated frown. He looked at the desk between them and the blank sheet of parchment. After a long moment of silence, the spirit let out a slow sigh.

"There are too many words for that, you will need more," Cole told him with quiet certainty. Something in his tone, in the way he'd phrased his comment, was inspiring and Solas's eyes widened slightly.

"Or fewer words, perhaps," Solas suggested softly, more to himself than to Cole. In a neat, even hand he wrote a few short sentences in the middle of the page. Cole watched him as he wrote, his head tilted and gaze curious; when he finished and set aside his pen, Cole stared at the page suspiciously.

"How did you make it so short? Is it enough?"

"No," Solas replied after a long moment, as they both waited for the ink to dry. "But I hope it will do."

"Don't want her to drown, struggling to breathe under words and well-wishes." Cole watched the ink dry and, once it had, looked back up at Solas. "I don't want her to drown either." 

It was a small agreement, just a few words of support, and Solas appreciated it all the more. He hoped his equally brief message would be as successful. Both of them were silent as his fingers moved over the paper and he deftly folded it. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, folding it in half would have been more than sufficient for such a brief note, but the simplicity of that solution seemed deeply impersonal. Instead, Solas opted to fold the page into something more...whimsical. It took a few moments longer than he'd planned, he was long out of practice in this particular art, but the parchment took on the shape of a four pointed star. Cole let out a little surprised sound when he finished and stared at the shape reverently. When Solas handed it to him, the spirit boy handled it with such care that it nearly brought a smile to his face.

"Cole, would you be kind enough to make sure the Inquisitor finds this?"

Cole looked up from the paper shape and his eyes cut through Solas as easily as the knives at his sides would have. He waited for the spirit's assessment, as patiently as anyone could wait while something searched their very soul, and a few minutes passed in silence. Eventually, Cole's stare turned away from him and the boy nodded. He cradled the little shape in his hands, carried it like it was something breakable and precious, and somewhere between that moment and the next Cole was gone. 

Though his request had been vague, Solas was confident that Cole had completed it. It took days for the Inquisitor to find the first note and, while the waiting made him impatient, the care with which Cole had hidden it was beyond value. It hadn't occurred to him that she might assume the note was for someone else, not until he heard her whisper that suspicion to Varric, just beyond his door. For as overblown and dramatic as the dwarf could be, he'd been surprisingly gentle when he pointed out that hiding a note in the Inquisitor's personal mail was hardly something done by mistake. After that, Trevelyan had darted through his rotunda and dashed up the stairs to speak to Leliana, her face flushed and expression alight with such shy elation that it warmed his heart. 

While he had no doubt that the spymaster would not have appreciated anything passing beneath her notice, even she wasn't so jaded that she would crush Trevelyan's girlish delight. They were too far from him, he couldn't hear their conversation, but he knew the sound of her footsteps as she came down the steps and all but jogged to speak to the Tevinter mage. Dorian was less quiet and, while Trevelyan's comments were too soft to properly make out, the man's delighted shout ("Oh! A secret admirer? How _scandalous!_") all but rang out through the tower. He didn't hear the Inquisitor leave, but Solas had no doubt she'd gone to speak to Madam de Fer about the matter. Her excitement was a balm on his conscience and, despite how ill-advised it might have been, he quietly wrote out another note.

The second note came more easily than the first. 

There was something simple and sincere about brevity; he could leave no room for pretense or misinterpretation and, as such, it required little more than honesty to write. He didn't think much on the implications of that, writing the truth about the Inquisitor was hardly something that seemed worthy of hesitation, and once he'd finished, he wrote another two pages before he stopped himself. As he patiently waited for each of them to dry, the sight of the notes, his feelings laid bare on his desk before him, caused a small pang of worry in his chest. Nothing on any of the pages was particularly sensitive, none of it was anything near secret, but there was something about seeing them that made him feel exposed.

He pushed the concern away and, with a quiet focus, quickly folded all three of the pieces of parchment into the same shape he'd folded the first. Once he'd completed them, he tucked them away beneath a heavy tome and returned to his reading. 

He'd planned to give the papers to Cole that evening, assuming the spirit was still amenable to assisting him, but it was Cole who came to him, first. The spirit boy was excited, his glassy eyes alight and a sliver of wonder in his voice as he appeared in the rotunda. He was all but bouncing on his heels when he approached Solas's desk. 

"It worked," Cole announced quite loudly, but Solas had neither the heart nor a reason to quiet him. Cole's voice was eminently forgettable and anyone who'd heard him shout wouldn't recall the sound long enough to parse out words. "It lifted the hurt. Smiling on the inside, too bright to keep in, blinding like the sun--can you do it again?"

Solas didn't have the luxury of being forgettable, but he couldn't have prevented the quiet chuckle that bubbled out of him at Cole's request. The spirit boy was smiling at him, if somewhat blankly, and Solas marked his reading before turning his attention to him.

"I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind helping me, actually," he admitted in a much softer, conversational tone and Cole nearly vibrated with the impatient need to help. When he uncovered the stars he'd folded, Cole's hands came out eagerly, like a child awaiting sweets. He held these notes with the same reverence as the first and leveled a bright smile at Solas as he did. 

"Thank you for helping me help," Cole said, his words nearly tangling over themselves in his hurry. Solas didn't understand his eagerness, not precisely, but he could guess at the reasons behind it. If anyone needed compassion, it was certainly the Inquisitor, and Cole was a spirit of compassion.

The boy vanished with the same abruptness that he usually employed, almost evaporating in space, and Solas was left staring at the scaffolding across the room, a small smile on his face. There was something inherently juvenile about this, something playful and ridiculous about sending secret notes to a woman he spoke to regularly, and it made him feel immeasurably young. It was thrilling in a way that he hadn't felt in...had he ever? If he had, he couldn't recall a time his heart had skipped so delightedly about something so small. It was almost intoxicating, the rush of it, and he reveled in it even as that small knot of worry twisted behind his ribs.

He knew precisely when she found each of the notes he'd written her. Trevelyan was always kind, but her smile would take on a private, internal sort of glow, lighting her face with a warmth she couldn't restrict. There was an ease in her step after she found each one; she would forget to shrink herself, would take up all the room she felt she needed, and moved with something akin to confidence for the whole day. Seeing her like that brought him more satisfaction and pride than he expected; watching others marvel at her, watching the same awe and wonder that he felt wash over them, it was rejuvenating. All of Skyhold mirrored her joy and the world seemed far less treacherous because of it.

Unfortunately, for all his efforts, the world was treacherous and fate had placed her at the center of the maelstrom. She took battle graciously enough; violence took a toll on her, her gentle disposition was strained to its very limits, but she wasn't a child. She fought with all she was and, when it was over, she put away her violence like a tool. She wept when they laid the dead to rest in the Exalted Plains, she scoured bodies for tokens to send to their loved ones, she helped without reservation and tried to mitigate the consequences of a war that was not her own.

The note he'd sent her, then, was shorter than the others. The ones before had assured her that she was beautiful, she was graceful, she was kind, but he felt the need to say something different as they wandered the smoldering wreckage of the Dales. He'd hidden it in her pack, beneath everything, but she found it with speed. When he discovered her, seated alone in the tent they were to share, staring at the open paper with a deep sadness written on her face, he'd frozen in place, afraid he'd been caught out. She'd looked up at him, a muted smile on her face, and assured him he could come in.

"It's not bad news," she said, her voice rough from the smoke that choked the air. The laugh that caught in her throat sounded almost painful and he winced before he could school his expression. Fortunately she read no slight in his reaction, it even seemed to amuse her, and her smile was less forced as he took a seat on his bedroll. "That bad?"

He considered answering her but refrained. "Would you care for some water?" She laughed again and shook her head softly. 

They sat in silence for several minutes. Solas was prepared to simply stretch out and sleep, to grant her some measure of privacy, but she'd done something he didn't expect. After some consideration, she held the note out to him. Confused and surprised, Solas glanced at her face and then at the parchment. There was no accusation in her expression, no confrontation in the way she held the paper--she didn't know? He took the parchment from her and opened it, the words on the page were precisely as he recalled them, albeit slightly creased from folding. He looked back up at her and watched as she drew up her knees and rested her arms atop them.

"_You are strong_," she repeated, she sounded almost dazed and her eyes focused on the middle-ground between where she sat and the flap of the tent. "Why would anyone think I was strong?" There was something forlorn in her voice, some small note of defeat, and it turned his stomach to hear it. "Half of Orlais has seen me sobbing like a little girl, at this point. I can't even imagine the jokes they're telling."

"No one is telling jokes," Solas said sharply, in a tone far more firm than he'd intended to use. She started at the sudden reprimand and wide eyes whipped to him in the dimness of the tent. Before, she would have shrank away from him, would have fled any dissent as strong as his was, and he felt a thrum of pride as she held his gaze, however uneasily, and waited for him to continue. "Half of Orlais has seen you grieving the dead," he continued, much more gently, and his gaze listed down to the page in his hands. "Empathy is not weakness, it is a rare and hard-won strength. Few possess as much of it as you do."

Wordlessly he extended the page out to her. He met her eyes again as she took it from him; though her cheeks burned and her eyes were watery, she didn't shy away.

"Thank you," she said, her voice choked but steady, and Solas merely bowed his head in reply. 

She had been steadier after the Exalted Plains, she wavered less and stood taller than she ever had before. It wasn't the dramatic surge of jubilation that followed his notes, but it brought him joy nevertheless. He'd been convinced, after they'd returned from that mission, that she'd figured it out. When he sent the next note, some small comment about how tenderly she cared for the garden, he'd expected her to come to him and make a proper accusation. She came to him, as he expected, but only to show him that she'd received another note. She told him, at length, about the others and her shock, about how they made her smile and brightened her day, and he was torn. It was oddly voyeuristic, listening to her tell him about how she adored his notes, unaware that he was the one who wrote them, but he couldn't have torn himself away if he wanted to.

He was invested in her happiness.

It was a dangerous thought, one that coalesced in the worry that sat caged behind his ribs, but it was true. He shied away from contemplating it, the full ramifications of it were too grand and dire for casual consideration, but the thought hounded him. He tried to write it off as something less than it was, as simple sympathy, as a kindness, but each excuse rang hollow. He watched her grow beneath his anonymous praise, watched her confidence blossom in her chest and in her magic, and he knew what this was. The thrill of her delight, the pain of her uncertainty, the comfort of her proximity, it was all so obvious that even he couldn't ignore it. 

His hand was heavy as he wrote the last note. Each letter pained him, but once he'd began they were inevitable. He stared at the script and it looked so banal that it was nearly offensive. It was just one note of nearly a dozen, nothing more. Each note had been a gift, each was given freely, little more than a piece of honesty he bared for her eyes. None of them required any response and, sad as it made him, this one was no different. He silently folded it, the shapes familiar to him now, and waited for Cole.

Cole did not come.

When Solas sought the boy out, he found nothing. Cole hid from him, evaded him with such skill that it was almost boggling, and Solas was left with no other recourse but to deliver the last message himself. It was fitting, he supposed. This was a fool's errand, after all, and he'd undertaken it willingly. Cole was many things, but he was not a fool.

A sense of finality settled over him as he went to the Inquisitor's quarters. He could have hidden this note, just as he had with the others, but this had long since ceased being juvenile. He knocked on her door and Trevelyan welcomed him brightly, her surprise obvious across her face. She was always happy to see him, it was something that brought him great comfort, and now was no exception. The sun was low in the sky, gradually setting behind the mountains, and the stained glass cast her room into a sea of brilliant color. She looked like a dream and he couldn't find it in him to look away. His starring unnerved her, slightly, but she waited for him to speak. Wordlessly he took her hand and pressed it between both of his. The weight of the message rested between their palms and Solas took a deep breath.

"You once asked me not to be cruel," Solas said quietly and watched as her expression shifted. Her eyes darted down to their hands, wide and disbelieving, and he felt her pulse jump beneath his fingers. "I would ask you extend me the same courtesy, if you can."

"Solas?" Her voice was thready and shocked.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his hands from hers; the note, folded into a simple star, rested in her hand and a horrible breadth of possibility yawned before him. He smiled at her, weakly, and she paled as she looked down at her hand. Her fingers were nearly shaking as she worked the parchment free from its decorative shape. Watching her felt like watching someone peel apart his soul, and yet he wanted nothing more than to have her finish her task. The words appeared between them both, heavy and absolute, and she sucked in a sharp breath as she read them. He watched as panic rose in her throat, as her pulse hammered in her neck and her breath caught. When she looked up at him, her expression as open and honest as he'd ever seen, he simply inclined his head.

"You--?" The question was choked off by her own shock and his weak smile widened, slightly.

"Love you, yes," he confirmed quietly and watched as the note tumbled from her fingers. It drifted silently to the ground and, with its truth revealed, was promptly forgotten.

Her hands flew to her face, covered over her mouth, and she stared at him wordlessly for some time. He tried to conjure something else to say, but he'd already told her everything that mattered; she had written record of everything he felt. He opened his mouth to repeat himself, to speak the whole phrase aloud, but the motion broke the calm of the moment and, all at once, she was pressed against him. Her lips, plush and soft, crushed against his. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with desperate, excited strength and he felt the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. He settled his hands on her waist and closed his eyes as he kissed her back.

They came apart gasping for air. Trevelyan refused to release him and held his head bent toward her, rested her forehead against his, and he remained where she desired him. Her eyes were even more beautiful up close; he was utterly lost in them the moment he met her gaze. 

The sun set behind them and, as night fell, he swore he saw stars in her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:
> 
> Solas/F!Inquisitor love letters and self esteem issues.
> 
> So, Solas is completely infatuated with the Inquisitor but refuses to make the first move or act on it because of who he is and (blahblahblah, you know the story).
> 
> Usually this is fixed by Inquisitor flirts and fade kisses until he just can't take it anymore and gives in despite his misgivings BUT!!
> 
> I wanted to see what would happen with an Inquisitor who was too unsure of herself to make the first move. She wants Solas but sees herself as physically and romantically undesirable so just sticks to being friendly/talking about intellectual things.
> 
> BASICALLY, as time goes on she gets lonely and doubts herself more. Lots of self-hate and gets depressed. Solas thinks it would help if she knew how much someone (coughcough) cared about her so he writes her anonymous love notes.
> 
> What happens then? Does he slip up and she finds out it's him? Do they end up together? Does she think it's a cruel joke? Does someone else take credit and Solas is outraged?
> 
> It's a silly idea but I saw something like it as a small aspect of a larger story in a different fandom and I fell in love.


End file.
